Half Pint
by Beta Gyre
Summary: AU two-shot. She realized a bit too late that these ruffians were not the singing, dancing, and dreaming type—but there she was in the Duckling, surrounded by them. And then...
1. Chapter 1

******Disclaimer:** _Tangled _belongs to Disney.

**Author's Note:** Not the most original AU scenario, but I had it in my head and it needed to come out. Enjoy! This will be a two-chapter short piece.

Rated for violence.

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**Half Pint**

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**Part One**

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Rapunzel nervously hunched over her mug of ale, sliding into the long shadows and trying her best to appear inconspicuous. It should have been easy; she was the smallest person in the Snuggly Duckling Inn now, and she had covered up in a long black cloak, pulling the hood over her head with its unevenly cut short brown hair. She was also seated on the far end of the bar, hoping that fewer people would look in that direction. Yet despite her best efforts, every time she dared to peek out at the crowd, she noticed a different set of eyes—or, for some of the ruffians, a single eye—leering at her. The fears that roiled within her were vague and indefinite, but nonetheless somehow deeply primal and instinctive.

"They can't really be _that_ threatening, Pascal," she whispered to the chameleon that sat coiled up under her hood, turned a fear-soaked unnaturally pale shade of green. "I mean, my hair is short and ordinary now"—she quickly pushed that thought out of her head; even though the fire a week ago that seared right through the formerly blonde tresses had been an accident, even though her _mother _had been the one to let the blazing hot coals fall from the tongs onto the long silky hair that weaved across the room, the hideous memory of _what followed after _still filled her mind, and her sense of heightened vulnerability remained—"and the ruffians that were here at lunch turned out all right. I'm just jumpy... right?" Her whisper ended in a high-pitched, terribly uncertain squeak. Pascal glanced back at her dubiously. He was not convinced either.

Anxiously she glanced around. A huge, savage-looking thug with one good eye and one horrible-looking, blind, dead, deformed eye that looked like it had seen the wrong end of an arrow was now leering evilly at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Gulping in fear, she turned her head toward her mug again, staring at the table without really seeing, blinking hard. Her heart pounded.

Snippets of the happy, free-wheeling song about dreams in which she had inadvertently led a different group of ruffians earlier in the day came back to her. There had been some rough-looking characters then too, she told herself fiercely. One of them had a mustache filled with blood, and one of them with a hook for a hand had even boasted in his impromptu lines about his violent temper. They were certainly unsavory-looking individuals, she thought, and they had also leered at her when she stepped hesitantly into the inn, half starved. And they had turned out harmless, at least as far as she was concerned.

But something about them was different from this group, something intangible perhaps, but still perceptible. Even their leers had been subtly different. Their initial grins had been those of a set of bullies who found it highly amusing that a slight, visibly nervous young woman would patronize their place by herself. Had she not become angry at the violent-tempered hook-handed ruffian when he lifted Pascal off her shoulder by his tail, had she not stood up to him, ultimately starting the bar song, they would have continued taking advantage of her fear to pick on her. But she realized now that their ultimate intention had been to scare her away, thinking it was all great fun—not to actually _harm _her, and probably not even Pascal. The looks she was getting from _this _group of ruffians were suggestive of something far more sinister. Somehow she knew that she could not get _this _crowd to start a song.

She wished, not for the first time today, that she had never left her tower. That she had just stayed there, even if it meant starving to death. Her hands shook as she gripped her mug. She thought about going to the innkeeper and telling _him _she was scared of most of these people, but the one who had been out during the daylight hours—the one who had sung along with the impromptu song—was nowhere to be found, not that she could blame him, and the bartender dealing with this night crowd looked just as bad as any of them. She had regretted getting _his _attention as soon as he had turned around to take her order. He would be no friend.

It is a very strange thing how some people can sense when they are being stared at, or pick out a particular set of noises that indicate when someone is approaching them. Despite all the vulgar, violent noise in the Snuggly Duckling tonight, all the curses and punches and uproarious drunk bellowing, Rapunzel's ears still pricked up at the sound of boots on creaky wooden planks. One of these ruffians had finally imbibed enough alcohol to take this beyond threatening leers and actually act—no, wait, there were _two_ pairs of boots, one heavy and one lighter, but both were moving toward her.

The lighter footfalls stopped. The hair on the back of Rapunzel's neck suddenly stood on end, and she knew—she _knew_—that the boots' owner was standing right behind her. She whirled around on her bar stool, deciding to at least go down fighting—but before she could, she felt a lean, but strong, arm wrap tightly around her waist. She opened her mouth to scream, but at once a hand clamped over her mouth. She squirmed hard, but the stranger had her pinned tightly.

"I swear I'm not going to hurt you," the owner of the arms whispered against her ear. His tone was urgent, even scared, which so startled her that she stopped squirming. "When that thug comes over here, act like you're with me. I'll handle the rest. All right?" He lifted his hand off her mouth, but his other one remained in place around her waist.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "And then what?" she hissed back. The heavy boots, no doubt those of the thug that he was talking about, were still approaching.

"Then I'll escort you out of this dump. This place isn't safe at night, and you'd better keep traveling."

The thug that had been headed her way stopped cold somewhere behind her. Trying hard to swallow her terror, Rapunzel turned slowly around to face him and nearly gasped aloud in fright when she saw him. Tall, stocky, and mean, he looked somehow malformed, as if his neck was too short by half and his arms were too long for his body. He had both his eyes, but as they leered at her, she noticed a certain coldness in them that made her stomach drop. It was the look of utter brutality—the face of a remorseless, unfeeling killer.

Instinctively Rapunzel then turned to have a look at her rescuer, if such he really was, and almost gasped again—but for a different reason. He was also hooded and cloaked, but under that hood was the handsomest face she had ever seen, with a pair of lively—but fearful—brown eyes. –Not that she had seen very many faces yet, having been out of the tower for not quite a full day, but this young man still looked different from anyone she had yet encountered. She knew from her experience with the singing ruffians that looks were not everything, but given her two alternatives, she instantly knew that she would take her chances with the one who at least had life in his eyes—and who had betrayed fear for her in the tone of his voice.

"Back off," the young man told the evil-looking thug in an aggressive voice, wrapping the arm that was around her waist even tighter. "She's _mine."_

Rapunzel's thoughts were a blur. Most of all, she really hoped that this gambit would work... she hoped that the large thug would not try to attack them even with the young man's presence. Though the rock-like strength of his grip spoke to some hidden muscular power, he was not of much more than average proportions. She had to hope he was much stronger than he looked.

The rest of her thoughts roiled around the claim he had just made. Even in _this _situation, her active imagination had immediately run with the remark. She _had _been struck with his appearance and his apparent gallantry... and she had proven already that she was able to make friends. The idea flitted through her mind that she would really like to get to know this young man better... if his plan worked out.

"That true?" the thug grunted.

He was glaring at Rapunzel. She didn't like that one bit, being in this creep's line of sight. Instinctively she leaned into the young man who was holding her around the waist. "Yes, it is," she spat out with as much courage as she could muster.

The young man glared out at the thug. His other hand shifted subtly under his cloak, as if he were reaching for a knife on his belt. With that small act, something changed imperceptibly, but significantly, between the two males. The thug looked rather less confident. Rapunzel could almost _see _the evil resolve draining from his face. Giving her one last leer, he turned and walked off.

The young man released her at once. Rapunzel heaved a huge sigh of relief, and inside her hood, she heard a tiny sigh escape from Pascal as well. She turned to the young man gratefully. "Thank you so much," she breathed. She really hoped, now that the tension had passed, that he wouldn't leave immediately.

He showed no signs of going anywhere. Instead, he smiled in acknowledgment and steered her carefully away from the bar into a shadowy part of the common room just to the side. They sat down at a tiny table for two. He watched, a faint, gentle smile on his face, as she finished her ale. Finally, when she was left with only a residue of foam, he spoke again.

"You know, I have to wonder... Why in the world would a half pint like you want to come into a place like this?"

Rapunzel glanced up. "Half pint?" she said, raising an eyebrow. Her gaze shifted briefly to her empty stein. That was a full pint.

"You're a small person," he explained. "No offense... you're quite cute"—he winked flirtatiously at her, and she felt a blush overspread her face—"but it's like I said, this is a dangerous place. You'll need more than a frog with you to be safe."

_What?_ Rapunzel was utterly confused for a moment, and then she realized that he was talking about Pascal. The chameleon was probably visible to him now. "He's a chameleon," she said pointedly.

The young man smirked. "Nuance. Either way, I can't imagine that he could help you out here. What brought you here anyway?"

"I was hungry," she explained. "Well, earlier in the day I was. I've been here for most of the afternoon."

"Why?" The young man seemed genuinely puzzled.

She felt embarrassed. "I... well..." she stammered. She gazed at Pascal for a moment, and that brief eye contact seemed to give her the courage she needed. "I don't really have a home anymore," she said. "At least, there's no food in it, and not much else either. There was a fire that... killed my mother," she choked out. That was basically true. It was easier to explain than the _full _truth, anyway. "I stayed there as long as I could... but the food ran out."

Concern had come over the young man's face when she mentioned that she had no home, and it had only intensified as she explained more. He looked dismayed. "I'm so sorry," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hands in his. "I know how that feels. I haven't got a home either."

She didn't know what to say. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"Well, I think we ought to be going." He released her hands and stood up. Silently she followed suit, taking his hand as he came around the table... after all, he had said to act like they were together. He raised an eyebrow at her when she did this, but he did not object or try to pull away. He gripped her hand tighter and navigated their way through the obnoxious crowd, heading for the front door. His hand was pretty large, and the warm pressure was a very pleasant sensation to her...

The autumn chill met them as they stepped outside. Silently he continued walking into the woods until the dodgy inn was no longer in view. Then he stopped and turned to her.

"I don't know what to tell you except if you still have _any _kind of a shelter, you probably ought to go back to it—unless you were headed somewhere in particular."

She was not. Though it was still her dream to see them, the floating lights that appeared only on her birthday had come and gone months ago, and she had no idea that they came from a town. She had no particular idea of what she had wanted to do when she finally left the half-burned tower; all she knew was that she could not stand to stay there another minute. "I wasn't," she said quietly. "I guess I could go back... it still provides shelter... but I don't know what I'm going to do." Her voice broke at the end, and she turned away from him in shame.

The young man looked conflicted about something, standing there silently as she tried to pull herself together. At last he spoke again. "I'll take you back there, then, and stay overnight if you want. Then you can think things over in the morning. It'll all seem easier by day, I guarantee it."

That was probably true. It was in the dark of night that her own guilt over what had happened had gnawed at her the whole past week. It was at the late hours that the terror for the future, now that her mother was gone and her tower was ruined and her hair had no magic virtue, overwhelmed her. Things _did _seem better by daylight.

"All right," she said in a soft voice. She squeezed the young man's hand and smiled shyly at him. He smiled back.

All of a sudden, Rapunzel felt compelled to do something more. Earlier today, when the singing, dreaming ruffians had left the inn, she had impulsively kissed the hook-handed one on the cheek. It was a mark of friendship only, but at this particular moment, Rapunzel felt that it was wrong to not give that to this young man, who had arguably done more for her... the singing ruffians had never been a real threat to her, after all. So while the impulse was still powerful, she leaned in, stood on her tiptoes, and pecked him on the cheek.

He was clearly startled, but as she moved away and met his eyes, she could tell that he was quite pleased about it. His eyes were gleaming, and a smirk was growing on his face.

Rapunzel did not quite understand what she was feeling. She did know that she still was not satisfied with what she had given him. After all, if he had done _more _than the hook-handed ruffian, then he deserved more than a tiny kiss... but she knew, somehow, that it wasn't just that. That smirk and those gleaming eyes had something to do with this. She was proud to have caused them, she wanted to cause them again (and cause them _more),_ and yet, she felt a little self-conscious under that intense gaze. The effect was not just from her to him; it was working in reverse too. She knew she wanted to give him more, but she could not explain what it was that made her heart thump a little harder, or her lower stomach seem to flip over quite pleasurably, at the thought.

So she didn't question it.

She reached for the sides of his traveling cloak. Standing on tiptoe once more, she took hold of the heavy black fabric and gripped it tightly as she leaned in. He realized what she was doing and brought a hand up to the back of her head, fingers slipping under the hood and into her hair, pushing her head gently toward him. For the tiniest fraction of a second she hesitated, but then she plunged ahead. Their lips met.

A low growl escaped involuntarily from him and a whimpering moan from her. She had _definitely _never felt anything like this before, but it was really nice. She didn't know exactly what she needed to do, but acting naturally seemed to make this young man respond. Maybe this was instinctive to some degree, she thought. It _startled _her at first when she felt his tongue running over her lower lip, but when she got used to the sweet tingly thrill, it seemed only natural—and it was also natural to part her lips and grant him entrance. He gripped her waist once more, squeezing her and holding her close, even as she clung to him like a lifeline.

At last they broke apart. He looked half wild, his brown eyes glittering in the starlight, and she got the distinct impression that he could go for more of that if she was willing. She felt quite satisfied with herself, happy about the new sensations she had experienced, the feeling of closeness, and her own courage to do this. Then it hit her: She had just been kissing a person, rather intensely at that, without either of them knowing each other's name.

Embarrassment flooded her. She turned away, flustered and suddenly ashamed. He noticed at once.

"What's wrong?" he exclaimed, reaching for her. "Didn't you like that?"

"I did—I really did—it's not that," she said. "It's just—I don't—oh, what was I thinking? I feel so stupid now. My name is Rapunzel. I'm _so _sorry—"

"There's no need to be _sorry!"_ Now that he understood the source of her anxiety, it was all he could do to keep from laughing about it. He reached out and stroked her cheek gently. "It's quite all right, and I'm pleased to have met you, _Rapunzel._ My na—"

He broke off abruptly just as she was turning back around to face him. The mirth on his face had vanished, replaced by stark terror. A shiver shot down her spine. Whatever had frightened him could not be good for either of them. Her mind instantly ran through the catalog of terrifying possibilities. Maybe some thugs from the inn had followed them. Maybe there were predatory wild animals in the woods, like wolves. The possibilities seemed endless.

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_To be continued with part 2..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thanks for the interest! There's a change of focus here, but that was implied with the ending of the previous part. It's probably fairly predictable how it will turn out, but I have to admit, one of my motives here is to make you feel—and perhaps make you doubt for a moment.

**Warning:** Violence.

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**Part Two**

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_"Get down!"_ he hissed. Before she could even see what had upset him, she felt herself shoved behind a low bush. He crouched beside her, fear filling his eyes. She followed his gaze to a clearing ahead of them in the woods but saw nothing.

Then she heard voices. They were low and gruff, and she could not make out what they were saying, but there was an undeniable suggestion of malice. In a second or two, the sources of the voices came into view. A pair of nearly identical thugs with reddish-brown hair were storming through the brush, and they were angry about something. "He's here somewhere," one of them snarled. "I saw him."

Rapunzel turned to the young man. "What's going on?" she hissed.

He turned to her, eyes white-rimmed and wide with fear. "They don't like me," he whispered. "We had teamed up to... do something..." He paused, and a faint hint of guilt came over his countenance. He took a breath and continued, "But it went wrong, and they blamed me, so I had to split."

She gazed at him ponderingly, wondering what he was referring to and why he seemed to be ashamed of it, but only for a second. The thugs were quickly approaching their hiding place. The young man shoved her forward into the bushes. "Don't let them see you!" he whispered frantically. The branches sprang back, and in the dark, under her traveling cloak, she was well concealed.

"Wait—aren't you going to hide too?" she cried.

"There's not enough room. They'd find us both," he said, and, giving her a parting look, sprang to his feet, revealing himself fully to the thugs.

They burst into evil toothy grins and tensed to grab the young man, but he was faster. Bursting into a rapid sprint, he tore away from the shrubbery where Rapunzel remained hidden, bounding into the forest at a speed that amazed her. Within seconds he was out of her sight. The thugs pursued him, their heavy footfalls smashing through undergrowth, swearing and growling threats.

Rapunzel could not stand to sit crouched under bushes while this man who had protected _her_ had to fend for himself. She couldn't let them catch up with him—but there was something else, she had to admit. She didn't want him to get away from her when they had only just met. Keeping her dark cloak over her head and wrapped around her body, she slipped out of the bushes and began dashing after them as quickly as she could manage without making too much noise.

As she darted through undergrowth in pursuit, she realized that she did not know what she would do if and when she caught up with the thugs. She had no weapon except a frying pan, which she kept stashed in a bag around her waist, and she knew that it would be difficult to subdue a pair of large brutes with it unless she happened to catch them unaware. She had realized the futility of the pan as a weapon for face-to-face combat with anyone who was significantly larger and taller than she was. If they were about the same height, she might be able to whack them in the head with it, but these thugs just towered over her too high.

And yet she ran. She just couldn't let the young man think she would leave him to this.

At last she became out of breath and slowed down, and just in time. Voices, both angry and frightened, echoed through the chill air. She slowed to a walk, and when she at last found herself before a tangle of bramble bushes, she stopped and crouched low in case the thugs were nearby.

To her absolute dismay and horror, they came into sight at once, about thirty feet away. She crouched even lower, concealing herself beneath her black cloak, hiding her face in the deep shadow of the large hood, and watched helplessly as the pair of violent thugs stomped into the clearing beyond the thorn bushes where undergrowth was basically nonexistent and only trees grew. One of them was carrying the young man in a headlock. The young man was still struggling against his attacker, and the sight of his desperate flailing filled Rapunzel with anguish.

Now that she had a relatively close look at them, she felt all her courage flee her. The thug who was holding her young man (for that was how she had started to think of him, as miserable and despairing as it made her feel) had a black eyepatch over one eye. The other one was identical except for this feature. These men were large, brutish, and hostile. She stood no chance against them, and she feared very much that the young man didn't either now that they had caught him. Her one faint hope, catching them with her frying pan while they were focused on something else, had vanished with her courage, because she could never get through this nest of brambles without alerting them to her presence.

The eyepatch thug held his captive still while the other one strode forward. Eyepatch lifted his captive's head up to face the other one. Rapunzel wanted to turn away, but she felt duty-bound to not be a coward—it was the least she could do for him—and when the other thug's fist smashed into the young man's face, she wanted to let out a cry for him, but somehow she managed to suppress it.

Then the eyepatch thug grabbed the man's arm and held it out at a strange angle. Rapunzel realized what was going to happen before it did, and she quickly ducked down so she wouldn't see it, but she was not quite fast enough to avoid seeing it out the corners of her eyes—nor did she get her hands to her ears fast enough to miss the sickening crunch as the thug broke the poor young man's arm at the elbow.

She couldn't stand it anymore. Lying facedown on the cold, dewy ground, she shed silent tears for him and put her hands over her ears to try to block out the rest of the beating. Unfortunately, she could not completely block the sounds. She felt so ashamed of herself, so useless, and so to _blame _for everything—after all, she reasoned that if the young man hadn't noticed her predicament in the inn and brought her out, he would still be in there and these villains wouldn't have seen him. Furthermore, if there hadn't been two of them, then presumably _he _would have been the one to hide in the shrubbery and evade the notice of these brutes. It was her fault, she was convinced. She didn't even care if the thugs found her now.

At last the thugs seemed to be through with their foul work. Tentatively Rapunzel removed her hands from over her ears and peeked up from the earth, though she immediately wished she hadn't. The poor young man who had been so kind to her was a bruised, bleeding mess. His unconscious form slumped against a trunk. Rapunzel felt so angry at the thugs that had done this to him that she almost leaped up again with her frying pan and no matter the consequences—

But then the eyepatch thug spoke again. His voice was low and menacing as he pulled out a dagger from his belt. "Want to finish him off?" he growled to his companion.

The other one glanced at the blade, then at the bruised body lying against the tree, and laughed. "There's no point. He won't feel it, and he's as good as dead anyway."

Eyepatch leered evilly and laughed along with him. Rapunzel felt angry tears burning in her eyes. So this was what the world outside was like! Evil thugs at inns, and violent criminals lurking in the woods! Clearly, it had been a mistake to leave. She should have just stayed in the tower, even though there was nothing to eat. After all, she thought miserably, her only real place in the world had been with her mother, and when her mother was gone, that meant that there _was _no place for her anymore. All that had been accomplished by her leaving was for an innocent person to be beaten—to death, if the thugs were correct about how close he was. And now that her hair had been seared off by the fire, and later trimmed by her to remove the blackened, burned ends, she had no way of helping him. The magic was gone.

The thugs finally, mercifully, walked away from the scene, laughing and sneering over what they had just done. Rapunzel waited until she could no longer hear their nasty laughter before moving to the side, trying to find a path into the clearing that avoided the brambles. The thorns seemed to have grown out of control, blocking multiple paths. It was a long way around, and as she walked, she tried at first to dry the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. Eventually she gave up on this.

"He never even got to tell me his name, Pascal," she whispered despondently to the chameleon on her shoulder. Somehow this seemed to amplify the tragedy. She could not even put a name to the loss.

At last she reached a clearing in the thorn bushes. Darting quickly into the clearing, she hurried around, looking for the tree that her poor young man was slumped unconscious against.

When she found it, she felt fresh tears gush down her face. Up close, it was even worse. The face that she had found so handsome was marred by a broken nose and a bloody lip. Tenderly she opened the clasps of his doublet and unbuttoned his shirt. His body was covered in bruises, there were clearly at least two broken ribs—which she was terribly afraid had punctured his lungs—and the ugly break at his elbow was also bleeding under the skin. Gingerly she opened his lips. At least his teeth were intact... not that it mattered now. He was unconscious, and his breathing was labored and shallow.

She felt, at last, the full weight of the guilt, anguish, and despair that had been threatening to overwhelm her. He was going to die, right here, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was unbelievable to her now that right before this had happened, she had been feeling incredibly thankful for his protecting her in the inn, hoping to get to know him better, kissing him tenderly—yes, she realized she had felt the stirrings of attraction. He had offered to come back to the tower with her tonight too. She could have gotten to know him and at least made a friend, if nothing else—someone who would have been another anchor to the rest of the world, another who would protect her. But that hope was gone.

Gently she lifted his head and upper body into her lap, hoping that he might wake up at this touch, but that hope was quickly dashed. He was deeply unconscious, unaware that she was even there.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Tears fell from her eyes and splashed on his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you the way you helped me." She bent over, pressing her face against his. "I'm so, so _sorry."_ Sobs escaped from her as she gripped his limp body. She was close enough now that she could feel his heart slowing down.

It was an old habit when she or her mother was feeling under the weather, or had suffered a minor injury. The healing incantation was right at the tip of her tongue for such occasions. She knew that it would have no effect now, and she didn't quite know why it came to her lips. The thought flitted through her mind that perhaps it was a farewell song for him, a benediction, as it were. Or a final desperate prayer. But whatever it was, she lifted her head up and began to sing it in a soft, sad, wavery voice.

_"Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates' design. Save what has been lost"_—at this point, she nearly broke down in sobs again, but she managed to continue in a husky voice—_"bring back what once was mine... what once was mine."_ At this final note, she bent over again, sobbing freely as her tears coursed down her cheeks and onto his. Vaguely she heard a sympathetic sad chirp from Pascal, who had climbed off her shoulder and curled up next to her on the ground.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that. It couldn't have been more than half a minute before she noticed the vividly bright light through her closed eyelids. Startled, she drew back and nearly exclaimed in amazement.

Bright golden light that reminded her so much of how her hair used to glow—when it still held its virtue—was radiating off his body. She could barely see what was happening to him beneath it, it was so blindingly bright in the pitch darkness of the wood. Her eyes actually hurt—she could _feel _her night-accustomed pupils contracting in the light. When that brief discomfort passed, she sat there transfixed at what was happening. Even when it faded away, seemingly soaking back into his body, it practically left her blinded to be faced with darkness again. But once her eyes adjusted once more, she realized that his body was pristine again. There were no signs of any of the injuries that he had just suffered. Even the blood that had trickled from his lips was gone, as if the light had absorbed it back into him. His face was just as handsome as it had been before the brutal attack.

Somehow, unaccountably, the healing magic had _not _entirely disappeared. Rapunzel had no idea if she could bring it out again by tears, but it had worked this time, when it really counted. She hadn't failed him after all. She hadn't lost him.

His eyelids fluttered open. He blinked and stared up at her, looking confused at first, but quickly becoming aware of the fact that he was not hurting anymore. He glanced around, as if to check his surroundings. Rapunzel still could not speak. Finally he seemed to have confirmed to himself that this _was _real and he had _not _died. A look of wonder appeared on his face, and gratitude, but also puzzlement.

"How—how did you do that?" he asked in a soft but befuddled voice.

Rapunzel let out a quick giggle. The misery and hopelessness that had filled her were quickly evaporating, replaced by indescribable happiness. "It's a long story," she said.

He pulled himself up and leaned against the tree that his body had so recently been thrown against. A laugh escaped him. "Well," he said, giving her a wink and a charming smile, "I guess I'll just have to stick around and hear it—and all your other stories." He smirked at her.

She felt heat creeping over her cheeks and knew that she was blushing, but that was all right. She crawled next to him and leaned against him, closing her eyes in bliss at the contact—the life and health. It seemed perfectly natural to do so. He had protected her from thugs at the inn, and she had just saved his life now, but rather than viewing it as a closing of accounts, she felt that these shared experiences had forged a bond between them. He seemed to agree, as he silently put an arm—now mended and functional—around her waist.

That thought reminded her. She opened her eyes again and looked into his. "I would love to, but right now it's your turn," she said matter-of-factly. "I told you my name, but you never told me yours." She raised an eyebrow teasingly at him. As she finished speaking, however, she had it cross her mind that he might not remember her name after what had happened. After all, she had only managed to tell it to him right before he saw the criminal thugs.

He smiled at her and squeezed her around the waist. "You certainly did, Rapunzel," he said. She felt a smile break over her face at the revelation that he _did _remember.

He paused for a moment as if contemplating something. A faint frown crossed his handsome face. He took a deep, but quick, breath before continuing, giving her the impression that he had come to a fast decision about something. "I'm Eugene," he said. "Eugene Fitzherbert."

Rapunzel noticed a slight awkwardness to how he enunciated the name, almost as if he were not used to saying it. But she liked his name. "That's a nice name," she said, still smiling at him. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek, just as she had done before the healing, before the beating, before their deep passionate kiss—her first such kiss, she thought, overjoyed that it would probably not now be her last one with him.

When he placed a hand gently on her cheek and turned her face toward his, she felt her heart leap. No, it _definitely _would not be her last one. Eagerly she leaned in and pressed her lips against his.

This one was, somehow, even more sensual and enjoyable than the first one had been. Part of it had to be the added sense of bonding that they shared, she thought—but she didn't think too much more, for the sensations quickly occupied her full attention. He parted her lips as he had done before, asking for entrance with only touches, pleading wordlessly with her as he ran his tongue lightly across her lower lip. She let out a blissful sigh and gave in, feeling control of her entire body slip away from her as she clung to him fiercely and yet helplessly at the same time, grabbing him with all the determination of never letting him go—_never _losing him again, this person who would risk his own life to keep dangerous people from hurting her, a person he barely knew—and yet feeling an overwhelming sensation of surrender.

He was devouring her. As soon as he finished one kiss, he instantly poured himself into another, each one heavier. She felt his teeth nip at her lips and tongue and the soft skin around her mouth. His hands were wandering from her waist all up and down her sides, pressing and caressing tenderly, sending thrills down her body. Her own hands found their way to the sides of his face, lacing beneath his hood, into his hair—it was so soft, she thought—and stroking the hairless spots behind his ears, which elicited groans of bliss from him every time she did it.

At last, though, they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that it was time to stop. As they broke away from each other, she took a deep, contented breath and regarded him with a smile. It was hard for her to believe that she had just done all this, but it seemed so natural and right. Another slight giggle escaped from her. Finally she turned around, and the first thing she noticed was that Pascal had hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, forepaws over what she supposed were his chameleon ears, his entire body turned a bright shade of embarrassed red. The sight made her laugh.

When Eugene saw what she found so funny, he chuckled too. "What's the little guy's name?" he asked her, helping her stand up, as the chameleon finally opened his eyes, slowly began to turn green again, and leaped onto her shoulder.

"Pascal," she replied, taking his hand as they got to their feet. He seemed a little unsteady on his, but very quickly he was walking normally again.

Right before they left the clear area and stepped back into the thick woods, he turned to her, and in a more serious tone asked her, "Did you see what way they went?"

She pointed in the direction that the thugs had headed off, opposite the direction that she had run and that they would need to go to reach her tower. She didn't want to think about the possibility of meeting them again—but then, she supposed, if they had left him for dead, they would not expect him to be walking around with someone else. He would just need to stay hooded and hidden until they got to her tower. They were quiet as they walked through the woods, both of them recognizing the necessity of not making too much noise. They would have plenty of time to talk at the tower.

She need not have worried. Within an hour, they came upon a familiar layer of vines that appeared to be a solid thick growth upon a large rock, but in fact was a thin curtain that they easily passed through. The tower, stark against the moonlit sky, loomed ahead, a place of darkness for her given what had happened inside it so recently, but for now also a place of strength and safety.

They headed through the clear grassy circle, stepped inside the stone entrance at the ground, and began ascending the steps. Once they were both inside, she quickly replaced the heavy stone over the hole in the floor. She glanced around the tower for something that hadn't been burned in the fire to stick on top of the hole for good measure. He seemed to understand what she was doing and why. His gaze quickly caught sight of a heavy trunk. They dragged it on top of the stone. That ought to hold. No one had ever found this tower before, anyway.

Rapunzel gripped Eugene's hand tightly, as if she were afraid that she would lose him again, and gazed at him with wide eyes. "Please stay," she said.

"Hey, I said I would," he reassured her, stroking her cheek. "I'll stay as long as you want me here, in fact. I think I mentioned that I don't have a home of my own... and I want to... to get to know you," he said softly, "to hear your stories and your secrets." The heaviness of the moment suddenly became too much for him, and he finished lightheartedly, "Starting with what kind of magic you know that fixed me up so well."

She blushed, but underneath her reddened countenance, she was beaming. "Well, why don't you come upstairs, away from this burned area, and I'll tell you about that. My room is mostly all right," she said. "The fire burned itself out in the living room."

He gave her a gentle, sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand. "I would be honored," he said, winking at her as she led him upstairs.

She knew she could not stay in the tower forever, of course. There were too many bad memories. She also knew that it was not too likely that Eugene would want to remain inside for the rest of his life. Even _before,_ she had known that hers was not a normal way of life. But as she headed upstairs with him, already looking forward to having a long, open conversation with him, she realized she was glad that the place was here, at least until they decided what to do next.

* * *

**End Note:** And from there, it's your call about whether they went to the kingdom, discovered family and home, and found happily ever after that way, or just ran off together. I couldn't decide which future I preferred for this AU, so I left it open.


End file.
